


End and New Beginning

by The Sign of Tea (NoPlastic)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Other, Platonic Life Partners, Platonic Relationships, Queerplatonic Relationships, Retirement, Sherlock on the Aromantic Spectrum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 20:32:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoPlastic/pseuds/The%20Sign%20of%20Tea
Summary: Sherlock and John are getting older. Will they have to go separate ways?





	End and New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Aggressively Arospec Week 2017. Sherlock in this story is on the aromantic spectrum. He can have romantic feelings sometimes, but they are weak or don't last very long. Friendship is very important to him.

“Morning,” John grumbled. It sounded like a complaint about the fact that it was morning again. He hobbled into the kitchen and grimaced in pain before he sat down at the table.

“Good morning, John.”

Sherlock glanced at him over the newspaper he hadn’t really been reading.

“How is the pain today?”

“Bad,” John said curtly. He poured himself a cup of coffee, and Sherlock handed him a fresh piece of toast and pushed the butter and a jar of marmalade towards him. John had lost too much weight in the past five months. It was important that he ate.

“Thanks,” John said, dropped the toast on his plate and promptly forgot about it. He leaned back in his chair and started to sip his coffee, gazing somewhere into the empty space between himself and Sherlock. Not even the fact that Sherlock had cleaned the kitchen and set the table for breakfast got any kind of reaction out of him. It was infuriating.

“We still have a can of beans left, if you prefer –“

“No, thanks, Sherlock. Just give me the sports section, please.”

“No.”

John raised his eyebrows.

“Excuse me?”

Sherlock took a deep breath.

“John, there’s something we need to talk about.”

“Oh, God, no. How bad is it? I mean, on a scale from _I accidentally committed a murder_ to _Rosie called and said she’s moving to New Zealand.”_

“Not that bad, I think.”

Sherlock handed him the printed out advertisement he’d been hiding behind the newspaper. John stared at it for a second, but obviously wasn’t paying attention.

“What’s this about?” he asked, sounding rather disinterested.

“Can’t you see? Just look at it,” Sherlock challenged him. “There are enough clues.”

John still didn’t seem enthusiastic about the task, but at least he didn’t protest this time.

“A picture of a house,” he said pensively. The creases on his forehead deepened. “Nice cottage by the sea. It’s for sale…”

He trailed off, lost his focus and gazed into space again.

“Something to do with one of your cases?”

_Your_ cases. The way he said it hurt, just like his recent refusal to engage with Sherlock’s work in any way was like a dagger constantly stabbing Sherlock in the back. It had been a year since John had last tried to help Sherlock chase down a criminal. His limp and his joint pain had become so bad he couldn’t run, couldn’t even walk longer distances.  
Five months ago, he’d finally seen a doctor about it and got the diagnosis: arthritis. Uncurable. Chronic pain. That evening, when he came home, John had flopped down on the sofa as if he wanted to imitate Sherlock in one of his dark moods, and said, “There you have it. I’m useless now, and it’s only going to get worse.”

From then on, he seemed to have lost all interest in crime solving or blogging about his life with Sherlock, and also in anything else. Only Rosie could still make him smile when she visited, brightening up the flat with her laugh and her love and her brightly colored clothes. As soon as she left the room, the darkness returned.

“It’s important,” Sherlock encouraged him again, trying to steer his attention back to the advertisement. “As usual, you’re missing all the important clues.”

“I’m sorry,” John said suddenly. He chuckled softly – a sound Sherlock hadn’t heard from him in ages. “All I can think of is that one time we talked about buying a cottage like that. The day we got drunk in the bar – do you remember? You weren’t going to stay, but Stamford and Greg didn’t show up, so I talked you into drinking with me, I’m sorry, it was so funny.”

Now he was actually giggling.

“We talked about Sherrrinford, and in the middle of it you suddenly wanted to discuss the case of the strangler from Sussex and you got it all mixed up, and somehow we ended up agreeing that we should buy a cottage by the sea and spend the rest of our days there, isolated from the rest of the world, without all the _noise_ and the _people_.”

His smile faded away.

“That was when we were still working together. Sherlock Holmes, the detective, and John Watson, his loyal blogger. We were inseparable, weren’t we?”

“Are you still interested in the house?”

“What, as in buying it and…”

He broke off.

“Oh, no, of course you just mean the ad. The clues, the case. I’m sorry, Sherlock, for a second I thought you were actually thinking about buying it.”

That was what Sherlock had been waiting for.

“Congratulations, John,” he said ceremoniously. “You solved the case.”

“What? The case? What case?”

“Ours.”

In one swift motion, Sherlock got out up from his chair, turned his back towards John and started fumbling with the kitchenware on the shelves. He was going to make a confession, and he just couldn’t face John while saying it.

“I have to tell you something, John, and I suggest you put your coffee mug back on the table before I do it, because otherwise you’ll probably drop it in your lap.”

He paused until he heard the clinking sound of the mug being put down.

“I’m going to stop working as a detective.”

“You… _What?”_

“Yes, you heard me. I have my reasons.”

“What reasons?”

Sherlock turned around to face John, whose expression was surprisingly neutral. Curious, not judgmental.

_This is why I love him,_ Sherlock thought.

It was a thought he had quite often, even after all the years, even though he wasn’t _in love_ with John anymore. He had been once, in the beginning. After the first few days they’d spent together, Sherlock realized he had a crush on him. It came as a shock, because the last time he’d felt anything similar he’d still been a schoolboy. It wasn’t exactly pleasant, either – strong and unfamiliar feelings hitting him again and again, confusing and disrupting his thought processes, and they weren’t even reciprocated. Many nights he cried himself to sleep. He wanted it to stop – and it did. The crush faded away as if somebody had suddenly pulled the plug. The remaining feelings formed the basis of a strong and loving friendship, and Sherlock took the chance to learn to love John once more, in a way that they were both comfortable with.

“I keep forgetting things,” Sherlock said softly.

He hadn’t meant to explain his reasons at all, but now he realized it was impossible to avoid. Everyone knew how much Sherlock loved his detective work, so of course they would demand an explanation if he decided to quit. Not telling them would only cause speculation and rumors, and Sherlock’s trusted friends deserved to know the truth, especially John.

“Remember last week, when I left my scarf, coat and hat at the police station after the press conference? _Hat detective forgets his hat,_ as the papers said. Don’t look like that – I know it wasn’t a big thing. You’ll laugh, but I actually saw a doctor about it yesterday. He said it’s nothing to worry about, I’m just getting older. But I hope you understand what it means for a man like me who always relied on his brain. This is why I want to end my career before I’m forced to do it. I don’t want to be remembered as a joke.”

Talking about this was more difficult than Sherlock had expected. His heart was hammering in his chest, and his hands were shaking.

“So you’re doing it, Sherlock? Really? You’re retiring and moving into this beautiful house by the sea?” A smile was playing around John’s lips, but at the same time he looked like he was going to cry. “Well, congratulations. You surely deserve it.”

His voice nearly failed on the last sentence.

“I’m … I’m just a little sad, you know,” he stuttered. “That it’s over, and that you’re planning to leave.”

For a moment, Sherlock was so taken aback that he didn’t know what to say. Obviously John thought he was going to be left behind, that Sherlock was planning to move away without him. Possibly Sherlock should have expected this, given how negatively John tended to think about himself. But since the day they’d met, Sherlock had always prioritized John in every life decision he’d made, and the thought that John hadn’t even noticed that in all the years was shocking.

He took a step towards John, took his arm and gently pulled him up from the chair, supporting him against the pain.

“I’m not going without you.”

It took a few seconds for the meaning of his words to sink in. John grinned and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it. He straightened himself to stand in a military posture like the real soldier that he was.

“Then I’m coming with you.”

Sherlock felt a heavy weight falling from his heart. No matter what happened from now on, John would be with him, so it would be good.

“Though what are we going to do?” John asked, still skeptical about the decision. “We’re retiring very early, Sherlock. We’re not really that old. Just sitting around and drinking tea won’t do.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find something. And if you’d been paying attention to the information I gave you, you would have noticed the cottage is in a town near the place where Molly lives now. Because I’m not really one for isolation, no matter what I say.”

John smiled. On a sudden impulse, Sherlock embraced him, and when he felt John hugging him back, he heard himself saying the words he should have said a long time ago.

“John, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The answer came immediately and without hesitation.

“You can look at the place next Monday if you want,” Sherlock said. “I’ve already made an appointment with one of Mycroft’s people to drive us.”

“That’s nice. So we can have a look at the house and decide if –“

“Oh, not just that.” Sherlock said with a boyish grin. “We can move straight in. I bought it already.”

“You did? When?”

“Five months ago. I know you’ll like it.”

John burst out laughing, and it was as if the sun suddenly started to shine in 221b again.

“You’re such a cock.”


End file.
